


It's Never For You

by panicking



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Musician Jaskier | Dandelion, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Slow Burn, listen they're both idiots I don't make the rules, mention of past Geralt/Renfri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23112097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panicking/pseuds/panicking
Summary: Geralt, adoptive father of Ciri and dumb of heart, frequents local house shows and slowly falls in love with Jaskier, a musician new to the scene. Yennefer, Triss, and Mousesack are as unhelpful as possible.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 327





	It's Never For You

**Author's Note:**

> as a disclaimer, I have only ever gone to one house show, so they may not all be like this.  
> additionally, I have not yet read any geralt/jaskier fic, since I wanted this to be as authentic to my interpretation of the characters as possible. my apologies if they deviate strongly from fandom perception!  
> as always, much thanks to @[eetrelibre](https://eetrelibre.tumblr.com/) for being my musical expert and co-conspirator

Geralt walked up the steps of the house, listening for the tell-tale sounds of chatter and the occasional tuning of an instrument. He could see blurred movement through the drapes covering the windows. He had been to this house a few times, he remembered, likely because the living room was so easily transformed into a stage. Part of him wondered if the owner simply desired to have a house full of music and life so often. 

He understood that thought.

He stepped through the doorway, briefly letting the light and sound spill out into the dark night. It was a welcome end to the week. He dropped his obligatory five dollars in the jar, reading the small printout about the designated cause of the week. It was for a queer resource center, the paper told him, that particularly helps kids who were kicked out of their homes. He added five more dollars to the jar, slipping his wallet back into his pocket as he stood up fully and surveyed the room. 

There were about twenty people in his line of sight, with doubtless more around the corner towards the kitchen. He walked through the crowd, gently maneuvering through the menagerie of people and mismatched furniture and only narrowly avoiding a flying drip of pizza grease. He hoped there was still pizza left, as he had only barely arrived before the start of the show. He managed to grab the last slice of pepperoni from the box, nodding at someone he recognized from across the counter before slipping back into the other room. 

Moments later, a small burst of noise came from the front doorway. Yennefer and Triss had arrived, and Yennefer wanted everyone to know it. Eventually, the pair made their way through the crowd, laughing and kissing a few more people on their cheeks. Yennefer and Triss beelined into the kitchen, their entourage melting away.

Geralt could just barely see Yennefer, but he knew that she was grabbing as many slices of pizza as could fit on the small paper party plates. She had always been like this, he mused, for as long as he had known her. Always trying to be the center of attention, sometimes succeeding. And always unflinchingly herself, he thought, as she came back around the corner and inelegantly took a large bite of pizza, wiping the grease from her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Yen,” Geralt said, smiling. “Glad you two finally made it.”

Yennefer smiled through her mouthful of pizza. She covered her mouth as she spoke, still chewing. “I wanted coffee before we got here and then Triss had to get more gas, so it took us a while.”

“And it definitely wasn’t how long those pants took to get on?”

Yennefer looked down, absently twisting back and forth, the fringe on her pants swaying with her. The fringe appeared to be her pants, now that Geralt looked closer. “No,” she said, finally swallowing. “These went on just fine.”

The room quieted around them as some lights were turned off and a rather petite woman stepped up to the makeshift stage, guitar in hand. Geralt recognized her from previous parties as someone with a fair voice and a deft hand at guitar. He had heard that she also dabbled on the harmonica, but never played it at parties like this as she deemed it too unprofessional for gatherings of this size.

Not that Geralt would complain about a bit of harmonica here and there. He listened, his eyes roaming around the room. He recognized most of the audience, as house shows were his most common outing. Every once in a while he would see someone he knew from the house shows in the real world, and it always threw him, the connection between his weekly gatherings and the outside, harsh world. In turn, they always seemed surprised to see him out and about, as if he was an apparition that appeared only at small house shows.

It made sense, he mused, with his tall stature and large build, combined with his white hair and propensity to wear all black. The effect was considerably strengthened when his nearly ethereal daughter was present, and no one from the shows seemed to believe that he was even capable of having a daughter, much less one with as strange a spirit as his.

Suddenly, there was clapping, and Geralt returned to himself. The musician had been good, as expected, and Geralt had been listening, even if his thoughts made it seem otherwise.

Another act came and went, and Yennefer and Geralt remained leaning against an adjacent wall, Triss sitting nearby. The third act of the night was someone Geralt did not recognize, and he turned to Yennefer. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head, unsure as well. Geralt turned his attention back to the man, who was currently finishing tuning an instrument that Geralt had not seen in real life before.

“Hello, everyone,” called the man from the stage. “I’m new here, just wanted to say thanks for inviting me. I go by the name Jaskier, and I’ll get right to the music.”

The man’s stage presence was striking, with everyone clapping along in time almost as soon as he started playing. It was impressive, even to Geralt. He looked over at Yennefer to make a face, only to discover that she was already looking funnily at him.

“What’s your problem?” he whispered in a break between songs.

She shrugged. “You’re actually paying attention for once.”

“It’s rare to see a musician new to this space who actually has a stage presence.” They quieted as the musician – Jaskier – began talking again. It was a simple story, about when he first played in front of a group of people and absolutely boofed it, but he said it with charm and ease as he retuned his instrument. 

“I don’t normally patronize people like this, but I have a degree in music performance and I’m new here,” Jaskier was saying as Geralt tuned back in. He was laughing, too, a melodic sound that caught Geralt off guard. “This is a lute, you might think of it as what old timey minstrels – or dungeons and dragons bards, if you’re into that – play. It’s my personal favorite instrument, and if you’re very nice to me, or buy me a drink, I can show you how to play it or let you hold it. Anyways, music is fun and here’s my next song!”

He jumped instantly into the raunchiest number of the night, startling everyone into sniggering and singing along for the chorus. Jaskier’s set concluded soon after. Quite a few people moved forward to speak with him, happily chatting about his music.

Quickly, Yennefer took Geralt’s arm and steered him towards the kitchen. “I saw some leftover pizza, and if you take it no one will give you any trouble,” she said, eyes pleading.

“Only for you, Yen,” Geralt said, taking one of the last slices of pizza. Triss appeared from somewhere behind Yennefer, eyes bright. Geralt took another slice. “And those who dare consort with you.”

Triss raised her eyebrows and took a bite, eyes closing as she did so. “You know, there’s little better than slightly cold pizza. The cheese just hits different.”

Yennefer nodded in agreement. “And we bow to those who so bravely take for those who cannot.” She and Triss bowed mockingly, Yennefer’s orange fringe swaying as she did so.

Geralt and Yennefer left soon after, having heard the final act many times before. They waved goodbye to Triss, who stayed behind, firmly ensconced in the couch.

“You thought he was cute, right? He’s totally your type,” pronounced Yennefer as she finished the last of her beer with a large swig. The two of them were standing on opposite sides of Geralt’s kitchen island, two half empty ice cream containers between them. Geralt was waiting for his ice cream to melt to the desired consistency while Yennefer had already finished her first serving and was clearly considering another bowl. For his part, Geralt had finished his first beer a while ago and was nursing his second.

They stayed relatively quiet, as Ciri had already gone to bed. She had joined them for the initial ice cream, of course, finishing hers at nearly the speed of sound.

Geralt looked around, confused. “What are you talking about? Has the beer gone to your head that fast?”

Yennefer waved her bottle for emphasis. “He’s your type! Smaller, brown hair, feisty with a wicked smile!”

“Who, the third act?” asked Geralt.

Yennefer smiled wide, her whole face transforming with glee. “You do know who I’m talking about! Face it, he’s clearly your type.”

She turned around, splaying her arms wide along the island, her head tilted back to look at Geralt. She looked remarkably like a cat lazing in the sun, except for her being a human and defiling Geralt’s kitchen. She blinked slowly, her dark eyeshadow bright under the lights of the kitchen.

Geralt walked to the fridge and took out a beer, offering it out to her. Yennefer reached her arm towards Geralt, making grabby hands. He smiled, smug, and popped the lid, setting it on the counter in front of her. She smiled and turned back around, facing Geralt again and taking a sip of her beer.

“Yen, you know I’m not looking for anyone. I have Ciri, I don’t need a romantic relationship on top of being a father. She’s always going to come first.”

Yennefer huffed a laugh. “You’re clearly in need of one. Triss and I are your only friends and you only keep us around because you can’t get rid of us.”

“I have Mousesack,” retorted Geralt, gently prodding his ice cream with his spoon. It looked to be the right consistency, so he took a hesitant sip. It was.

Yennefer blew gently over her bottle, making a small whistling sound. “Yeah, and you hang out with him how often on purpose?”

Geralt took another sip of his ice cream.

“I’m going to take your silence as an answer, thank you,” said Yennefer.

“I don’t need a relationship. I do not want a relationship. Anyways, who wants to date someone with a kid?” Geralt asked, eyes flashing.

“She’s not biologically yours, that gives you credibility. Shows that you’re dependable.”

“No one wants to date a man with a child and you know it, Yen. And because of her I can’t do casual. I can’t do that to her, and no one wants to do all or nothing.”

“She can take it, Geralt. She’s twelve, not an infant. She understands how people work.”

Geralt sighed, looking down at his ice cream. “I know. I’m still so new to this.”

Yennefer smiled softly, walking around the island to wrap an arm around Geralt. “I know.” She paused, her other arm sweeping open wide. “But I’m going to make sure you get dicked down sooner or later.”

+

Jaskier listened quietly at the front door. It was brick red, with white trim. He had always liked white trim, and knew that if he was ever rich enough to own a house he would make the trim white. Not that he would ever be, a music teacher who moonlighted in a baroque ensemble and as a soloist. But he could dream.

From inside the house, he heard voices, seemingly coming from a different room and drifting his way after a moment. Eventually, he heard a voice he recognized, one of the artists from the last house show he had performed at. He smiled and opened the door, vastly relieved. He was always worried that he had somehow arrived at the wrong house, or that he had gotten the wrong day or time for the show and that he would be laughed out of town.

“Jaskier! Glad to see you made it, we were just about to text you,” called a voice from the other side of the room. Jaskier smiled and breathed a laugh. He had carefully calculated when to arrive, knowing that arriving early last time had been acceptable because it was his first time performing at the show, but that this time he should display a more calm veneer to appear more capable. Arriving just before “on time” was the perfect way to do so, as he was never quite late but gave the appearance that he was casual enough to be comfortable with being late, if he ever chose to do so.

He had to establish himself as someone cool, if he wanted to stay on the rotating setlist. He had never been in a circuit such as this, where musicians (if they were good enough and chose to do so) could be put on a rotating list for a certain house show circuit. One of the other musicians, who happened to be playing that night, had been performing for three straight months. It was unorthodox, but it was a nice way to grow his audience in a comfortable setting.

He sat with one of the other musicians, warming up and chatting. She had been at his previous performance, the first guitarist. She showed him pictures of her cats, and Jaskier mourned his landlord who forbade all pets. 

The guests began arriving, and Jaskier recognized a few from last time. Many waved, occasionally stopping to chat for a moment. Most of them seemed uncommonly friendly and genuinely interested in him as both a person and a musician. Jaskier was more than happy to talk, especially when the conversation turned to his music.

Closer towards the start of the performances, the tall man with long, white hair arrived. Jaskier had not realized that he had been waiting for him, but he let out a sigh of relief when the man appeared. He was shockingly gorgeous, and Jaskier had noticed him through his fog of anxiety last time. The man beelined towards the kitchen, nodding at a few people as he moved through the house. That meant he likely lived nearby, and Jaskier smiled at himself, shaking his head as he looked down at his lute.

He had always known he was a hopeless romantic, but sometimes it felt nice to be reaffirmed as such.

Suddenly, the noise level in the room increased, and Jaskier looked around. It seemed as if the only two people that mattered to anyone else had arrived, and he craned his neck to see. It was two women, both wearing some of the more ostentatious clothing he had seen in day to day life. Of course, he thought, he was no one to talk, considering that he was wearing red pants, a white silk shirt, and a red bomber jacket, but the louder woman had miles on him.

Eventually, the room quieted and people rearranged themselves as the lights dimmed. The first act went on, and Jaskier was able to enjoy himself, as he had been too nervous last time to actually listen to anything going on around him. As the performer ended their set, Jaskier found himself standing next to the white-haired man. 

On the other side of the man was the loud woman from before, Yennefer. She and the man were talking in low tones, leaning in close to each other, her mouth just inches from his ear. Jaskier frowned. After a moment, the man laughed, leaning back, and Yennefer stood up, decidedly walking towards a group of people. The gathering swallowed her up, crowding around her like ducklings around their mother.

Jaskier took his chance and turned to the man, holding out his hand. “I’m Jaskier, one of the musicians. I was here last week, if you were here?”

Jaskier knew that the man had been here last week, but had to further the conversation somehow. The man took his hand, shaking it firmly. “Geralt,” he said.

“Geralt! Nice to meet you,” said Jaskier. “I moved here recently, and I’m so glad I found a place I can play so often. I’ve been a musician for a long time, but haven’t really had a place as semi-permanent as this.” Jaskier continued, taking Geralt’s silence and occasional one-word responses as permission to continue. It was all part of being a musician, see, especially one that worked in a style such as his. A bardic tradition, one might call it, complete with a lute. Jaskier prattled on, content as long as Geralt listened.

“It’s fun, having such a different style,” said Jaskier, having now looped back to talking about his music after making a not-so-brief detour into his personal journey as a musician, as well as his attempts at increasing his lung capacity through a combination of swimming and competitive trombone.

“I can make fun of anyone, and they all just take it! Sometimes they even pay me for it. Like, right there, you see that balding guy? I could make up a song about how his daughter would be bald as well, and how she’d have to go into a life of crime in order to make up for how uncool it would make her, you know, to be extra cool, and he’d eat it up and not realize that I’m actually a soothsayer, and the only reason I can make burns as sick as these is because I can tell the future, but only in the most offensive way.”

Geralt, having been slowly eating pizza the entire time Jaskier was talking at him, smirked around his bite. Jaskier felt victorious, in that moment.

“It was excellent talking to you, Geralt, but I am afraid I must take your leave for now,” said Jaskier, bowing slightly. His anxiety had disappeared when he had been talking to Geralt, but he felt it slowly creeping over him again.

Geralt nodded. “Good luck with your set.”

And Jaskier smiled, heart fluttering as he walked up to the makeshift stage. It was hard to not stare at Geralt the entire time during his set, as what he wanted to do most was bathe in the glow of Geralt’s meager attention. So Jaskier allowed himself to look at Geralt a few times during each song. He made sure to look equally at the rest of the room, but it was hard to fault himself when the man was so gorgeous. And even though he did not seem to care, Jaskier could not help but feel that Geralt listened to him the entire time.

At the end of his set, Jaskier sang his newest song, introducing it briefly. It was a jaunty tune as well as a tongue twister, a brief obsession during his childhood that happened to be instrumental to his career as a musician. As he sang, he made eye contact with Geralt and smiled, wide and happy, at the man. Geralt smiled back, just barely, and Jaskier was unable to hide his grin for the rest of the song.

At the end of the party, Jaskier found himself talking to some of the lovelier ladies, showing them the different parts of the lute. He looked up to see Geralt and Yennefer waving goodbye to a few people, Yennefer considerably more than Geralt. As they finally walked out, Geralt’s arm was slung around Yennefer’s waist and he was laughing, his head thrown back. Jaskier felt a sharp spike of jealousy, of all things. And hurt. But just because a man listened to him talk about his life story and musings on different pizza toppings throughout his youth for half an hour did not mean that Jasker was anything special to him. Just because the man had white hair and a voice like a waterfall crashing on rocks did not mean that he was interested.

He did smile during Jaskier’s new song, and that thought carried Jaskier through the rest of the night.

+

Geralt ducked into the house, the party already in full swing. No one was scheduled to perform for another while longer, but this group of people were more than boisterous enough to party without musicians. His phone buzzed as he dropped his money in the jar, and he found a text from Yennefer:

soz wont make it tonight! triss might show up tho have fun xoxo

Geralt shook his head and walked towards the kitchen, intent on pizza. Shows were always more fun with Yennefer, but contrary to popular belief he actually enjoyed himself. He had always been a fan of music, and when he moved to town and happened upon the ultra-indie house show scene, he was immediately hooked. Years ago he had found that he had almost no musical talent, save for an uncanny affinity for Gregorian chants, but not for lack of trying. In order to make up for his despair, in the two years since adopting Ciri he had shuffled her through nearly all different musical styles and instruments, hoping that since they had no blood relation she would have inherited some musical talent of her own.

Thankfully, she had decided to take up violin, and Geralt could not have been happier. Ciri’s only demand had been that since she was alone in taking music lessons, they had to do something fun together. After much careful deliberation, they joined a local krav maga gym. Ciri was shockingly good at it, and Geralt was considering seeing if she would be willing to take on other martial arts as well.

But his pride in his daughter’s musical and violent proclivities did not make up for his lack of musical ability, nor for the fact that Yennefer was not here and he would have to enjoy the party by himself.

“Geralt!” called a voice from across the room. Geralt looked up, a small smile stretching the corner of his mouth. He would not have to face the party alone.

“Mousesack! How are you?” he asked, carefully avoiding contact between his pizza and people as he navigated the room.

“Fantastic, now that you’re here. I haven’t seen you in forever, what have you been up to?”

“That’s not my fault, I’ve been here nearly every week.” The pair were in deep conversation for a while, almost completely unaware of the first act. Their schedules conflicted to an absurd degree, so each time they saw each other it was likely that they had not been in contact for the past several months. Shortly after the first act, as the room grew louder again, Geralt noticed someone slipping through the crowd in his direction.

“Geralt! Glad to see you came,” said Jaskier, reaching an arm around Geralt for a one-armed hug. Mousesack’s eyebrows shot up, putting in no effort to hide his surprise.

“It’s never for you,” said Geralt. “Jaskier, this is Mousesack, a good friend of mine. Mousesack, this is Jaskier, a newer musician here.”

Jaskier held out his hand to the still shocked Mousesack, grinning. “Always a pleasure to meet one of Geralt’s friends.” Jaskier’s arm was still around Geralt’s shoulders, and Geralt knew that he had to reach up slightly in order to maintain the level of contact that Jaskier was achieving. It took nearly all the control he had in order to not check if Jaskier was on his tiptoes. Geralt knew that he would have lost the remaining respect he had for himself, as well as any respect Mousesack had for him, particularly if Jaskier really was on his tiptoes.

“I see your fair lady isn’t here,” said Jaskier, looking around.

“She’s neither fair nor my lady.”

“So that’s why you always go home together, is it?”

Geralt shrugged. “Someone doesn’t need to be fair nor a lady to come home with me.”

Jaskier choked, causing Geralt to put a hand on Jaskier’s back, concerned.

“Are you okay?”

Jaskier nodded, coughing, his eyes wide. “Just choked on my own spit, you know. A useful skill as a musician. Speaking of, I should go, I’m on next. Mousesack, it was a pleasure meeting you.” Jaskier smiled and bowed slightly, leaving Geralt and Mousesack alone. It was an uncharacteristically hurried exit, but Geralt guessed that he was not comfortable meeting new people. Not that it made sense with who Jaskier seemed to be as a person, but it was an excuse Geralt was willing to believe.

Mousesack grinned, his smile nearly feral. “Who and what was that?”

Geralt frowned at him. “Jaskier, he’s a musician here. Were you not listening? He’s been here for about a month.”

“Oh, I was listening,” said Mousesack, rocking back on his heels. “You’re trying to get into his pants. I haven’t seen you like this since Renfri.”

Geralt stared at Mousesack, uncomprehending. “What are you talking about?”

“That,” said Mousesack, gesturing towards the direction of Jaskier, “was the smoothest I have ever seen you flirt with anyone. You made him choke, Geralt.”

Geralt shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed. “I was not flirting with him.”

Mousesack laughed. “Sure, and you casually dropped in your sexual preferences for the fun of it. Also, you don’t even let people you trust touch you, and here he is, casually draping an arm around you for the whole conversation.”

Geralt shook his head again, even slower this time. “You’ve deeply misunderstood, Mousesack. We haven’t seen each other in long enough, and you’ve forgotten who I am.”

“Sure, and him being a musician has no sway on how you feel about him.”

The room quieted, saving Geralt from having to reply, and they turned their attention towards the front as Jaskier spoke to the room at large. Jaskier smiled wide, his whole face lit up, and began his first song.

“Ah, fuck,” said Geralt. Mousesack cackled next to him, gleeful.

+

Jaskier mindlessly paced through the house party, inserting himself into various conversations throughout the room. He had performed at enough shows that he recognized most people there and had actually talked with quite a few of them. They were all wonderful people, but he kept getting bored with their conversations, his anxiety taking hold and telling him to keep moving, keep finding somewhere else to go. He had been drumming his hands on his legs for the past half hour, repeating the same one-two-three-four rhythm over and over. It was an old habit, one that he was often unaware of doing.

As he looked around, he spotted a shock of white hair through the crowd and smiled, his body instantly relaxing. He clapped the person nearest to him on the back and gave his goodbyes to the group, telling them to enjoy the show.

Jaskier walked over, slipping through the crowd.

“Geralt!” he cried upon arrival, moving around the couch to face Geralt. To Jaskier’s surprise, someone else was on the couch, too. If he had to guess, he would say she was about twelve, with nearly white blond hair stretching down her back. He stopped short, attempting to understand that a) Geralt was sitting on a couch, when he would normally give it to literally anyone else, and b) there was a small child at the house party.

Geralt and the young girl turned, Geralt’s lips quirking up at one corner. He and the girl stood, her smiling.

“Who’s this?” asked Jaskier, too surprised to be courteous.

“This is my daughter, Ciri. Ciri, this is Jaskier.”

“You sing, correct?” asked Ciri, looking up at Jaskier with eyes that he immediately knew were too knowledgeable for her own good. “I’m excited to hear your music, I’ve heard so much about you.”

Jaskier smiled, one side wider than the other. “She’s heard about my music, has she?” he asked Geralt, preening.

“I have only told her how awful it is,” said Geralt, his smile both charming and rude. Jaskier spluttered, askance at both the insult and Geralt’s smile that made Jaskier want to have many, many things done to him.

“Well, Ciri, it is certainly nice to meet you. I hope you did not inherit your father’s poor taste in music.”

“He’s actually been sending me to violin lessons, since he has no musical ability of his own,” Ciri said, laughing. 

Jaskier smiled, instantly taking a strong liking to Ciri. “Do you want me to show you how to play the lute? I still need to tune it and you can help, if you want.”

Ciri nodded and followed Jaskier to a quieter area, the pair quickly delving deep into a conversation on the merits of practice and how if Geralt actually tried for more than a minute, he could probably do anything he wanted. Even sing, added Ciri, laughing. Jaskier laughed with her, his heart flopping in his chest at the mere idea of Geralt singing.

Later that night, Jaskier found Geralt leaning against a wall as Ciri was talking with the duo from the first set. Geralt’s eyes were soft but aware, and he looked up quickly when Jaskier stepped close. The two of them watched Ciri for a minute, before Jaskier looked at Geralt and cleared his throat.

“Hey, I uh. I didn’t realize you had a daughter. I’m sorry if I assumed things about you and others here that were wrong, and I wanted to apologize to you about it. It’s not fair of me to assume, especially when I still barely know anyone here.” Jaskier looked at Geralt and down at the ground, his fingers one-two-three-four tapping on his thigh.

“No, there’s nothing to apologize for,” rumbled Geralt, tilting his head to look at Jaskier. “I’ve only had Ciri for two years. Adopted her after her parents died and I owed them a debt.” He paused, closing his eyes momentarily.

“Best thing I’ve ever done, if I’m being honest. We understand each other.”

“Wait, so you actually do go home with Yennefer most of the time?” asked Jaskier, thrown out of his repentance.

Geralt chuckled, smirking, his eyes back on Ciri. “Ciri and I are open with each other. She understands what I do and who I am, and in turn I understand her. If I was to have a serious relationship with someone, the two of us would talk about it.” He turned to Jaskier, slowly raking his gaze up and down. 

Jaskier swallowed. “It’s nice that you can be so open and honest with someone.” He paused, raising an eyebrow at Geralt. “I’m sure it would help your case if you were open and honest with everyone in the same fashion.”

Geralt barked a laugh, his eyes filled with mirth. “I’m told it’s part of my charm.”

Jaskier’s set was last that night, so he was packing up as most people had already left. He knew that Geralt usually left as soon as the music ended, so he was surprised to hear a quiet “hm” from above as he was putting away his things. Geralt was the only person Jaskier knew who seemed to think that a hum was an acceptable form of speech, so the surprise was not in who had vocalized the hum, but rather that he was still there.

“Yes?” asked Jaskier, his hands stilling. He was kneeling, in the midst of putting his lute and other accoutrements away.

Geralt gestured vaguely to where Mousesack and Ciri were waiting by the door. “We’re going to Blaviken in a moment. Would you like to join us?”

Jaskier wiped his hands on his trousers and sat back on his haunches, looking up at Geralt. “Isn’t that the creepy one?”

“It has an ambience.”

“Uh, are you sure? I know you and Mousesack are close, and I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Would I be asking if I wasn’t?”

There was a heavy pause as Jaskier considered those words. There was a deeper meaning in those words, he was sure, but he was caught too off guard to have time to truly notice it. He nodded. “That sounds nice, actually. I haven’t been there, but I’ve heard some weird things. Is it true that the bathroom has a hidden trap door?”

“You’ll have to see for yourself.” Geralt paused. “Do you want a ride? I have room in my car.”

“No, I’ve still got to pack up, and my car is here anyways. Thank you though. I’ll meet you there, if that’s all right?”

Geralt nodded and walked towards Ciri and Mousesack, leaving Jaskier alone. He watched the trio leave before exclaiming to himself and rushing to finish packing his things.

Jaskier arrived at Blaviken after the others, only partly due to having to pack up his instruments. He had walked around the outside multiple times, as he had had a hard time believing that what seemed like an older house was actually Blaviken. The outside was a nondescript wine red, with a wraparound porch and only a small sign proclaiming the hours (7pm – 12am Sun – Thur, 7pm – 1am Fri – Sat) and the name sitting in the window. Jasker walked up the steps and peeked in.

The entrance was a foyer with a small loveseat, stairs leading directly upward, and an entryway to the darkened dining area. To one side of the dining area was someone softly playing a grand piano, and to the other were curtains hiding the kitchen. The dining area was lit mostly by candlelight, and far more tables and chairs than seemed possible were squished in.

Jaskier looked around hopelessly before seeing Geralt wave him over. He maneuvered his way through the dining room, apologizing to almost everyone that he bumped into along the way. The servers ghosted by, somehow unphased by the sheer density of patrons and chairs in their way.

“Jesus, how did you ever find this place? I hope I’m not too late, I spent forever not believing that this was it,” said Jaskier, huffing and sitting down between Geralt and Mousesack, across from Ciri. All of the tables in Blaviken were round, which was generally pleasing to Jaskier.

“No worries,” said Mousesack, waving a hand as Jaskier protested. “We don’t even have water yet.”

Jaskier looked down to find this true, but only for a moment. Quickly, a waiter came by, setting down a variety of plastic cups and filling them with water. The waiter placed menus in front of all of them and stepped away before changing tack and returning.

“Geralt! We haven’t seen you in forever, where have you been?”

Geralt turned around before breaking out into a smile. “Cahir, I didn’t think you still worked here, you bastard. How are you?”

Cahir smiled, bending down to give Ciri a hug. “Not as well as you two, clearly. I can’t believe you’ve both brought boyfriends this time,” he said, laughing. Ciri giggled, hiding her mouth behind her hands.

Geralt laughed, the most genuine laugh that Jaskier had heard come from him. Jaskier glanced at Mousesack, eyes wide, as Geralt asked Cahir if he could guess which one was his. From the look on Mousesack’s face, it was rare for him to see Geralt like this as well, despite having been close friends since college.  
Geralt and the server went back and forth for a bit, until Cahir had to leave and actually do his job. 

Mousack leaned over to Jaskier, whispering. “I don’t know if you understand this, but they’re _very_ closed off people. Geralt must trust you a lot to invite you, and,” he paused, shaking his head and smiling. “It’s nice seeing him like this, so relaxed. He never was, before Ciri. He’s gotten better, but seeing him like this is still almost unbelievable to me.”

Jaskier had no idea what to do with that information, with that implication, so he merely thanked Mousesack. Mousesack nodded sagely before leaning back into his chair and holding the menu close to his face. Jaskier scoffed before realizing that he had to do the same, as Blaviken was so dimly lit that he could barely make out the words. He glanced over the menu before setting it down, looking at Geralt.

“What kind of place did you say this was?”

Geralt and Ciri looked up from their huddled conversation. “It’s a dessert and coffee place,” said Ciri, smiling. “I usually get tea though, since I’m not allowed to have caffeine.” She glared at Geralt, then, just quick enough for him to not notice it.

“Well,” said Jaskier, leaning forward. “I have already had two large cups of coffee and a cold brew, which frankly is too much caffeine for me to have in one day, so I will be joining you in your tea drinking.” Ciri smiled brightly at him and Jaskier felt a deep contentment that had eluded him for the past several years.

The conversation continued, briefly interrupted by ordering drinks and dessert from the talkative Cahir and their eventual arrival. Most of the conversation was between Geralt, Ciri, and Mousesack, with Jaskier throwing in his opinion only when he felt like he had something to offer. He was fine that way, happy to just listen. He felt almost like the outing was a test, and while he was not sure what for, he was very, very determined to do well on it.

He could tell that Ciri liked him. She smiled whenever they made eye contact, and always laughed outright whenever Geralt outmaneuvered him with words. Jaskier did manage to one-up Geralt once with a cleverly timed tongue twister, earning him an approving glance from Mousesack.

“I want to try viola as well,” said Ciri, continuing their conversation from back at the party. “I don’t know if it will actually be any different than the violin, but I would like to see all the same.”

“If you can play the violin you can easily play the viola,” said Jaskier, gesturing nonsense with his hands. “But violas are bigger, and that might pose a problem since your hands are so small, just since you have to spread your fingers more to get the right notes. I have one, actually, if you want to borrow it.”

“You do?” asked Ciri, brightening. “I would love to try it! Could you teach me?”

“Teach you? What, do you think I’m a music teacher for nothing? Of course I can teach you,” he said, smiling broadly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Geralt looking at him with the fondest expression he had ever seen a human make. Geralt’s eyes were soft, and his head was tilted slightly to the side as he watched Jaskier. Geralt’s hands were cupped around his mug, his thumb making slow passes along the handle. Jaskier’s throat went dry and he swallowed, caught off guard. There was no reason for Geralt to look at him like that, and his mind momentarily went completely blank.

“Jaskier?” called Ciri, waving her hand in front of his face. “Where did you go? You just stopped talking.”

Jaskier shook his head. “Sorry, I was just remembering when I had first learned the viola. It’s a funny story, actually,” he said, launching into a twisting tale that was mostly true. He happened to see Mousesack raise his eyebrows at Geralt, who frowned in response. Jaskier did his best to ignore them, spinning the tale of his first viola experience at the tender age of eight.

Throughout the night, sometimes Ciri would turn to Mousesack. In those times, Geralt and Jaskier would talk, just the two of them. Somehow, it was the most they had ever spoken to each other, but it was nice. Geralt was more relaxed than Jaskier had ever seen him, and he felt oddly comfortable trading gentle insults with Geralt.

Later on, Jaskier returned from the bathroom and shivered off a sudden chill. “That bathroom is terrible! I asked about it earlier, why didn’t you warn me?” he cried, glaring at Geralt.

“It’s more organic to experience it yourself, I think,” said Geralt.

“It is something of a tradition,” said Mousesack. “Did you try the other doors?”

“Yes,” said Jaskier, sitting down and shaking his head. “It took me forever to find the bathroom and once I did I nearly dropped dead on sight, Jesus. I don’t want that thing looking at me while I take a piss!”

The other three laughed.

“Geralt didn’t understand why I was so freaked out, the first time we came here,” said Ciri. “I told him to go to the bathroom and he didn’t believe me!” She shook her head and took another bite of her dessert. “It took him forever to see for himself what was going on.”

Eventually they wound down, as Ciri was visibly tiring. She was only twelve, Jaskier reminded himself, despite how old she seemed for her age. Somehow, as they left, Geralt managed to pay for Jaskier, a fact that Jaskier only realized with a start the next morning. He had remembered to tip the pianist, but there was so much confusion when Cahir arrived to sort them all out that somehow Jaskier had managed to not pay his own check.

Geralt and Ciri hugged Mousesack once they exited Blaviken, Ciri proclaiming that they would have him over for dinner sometime soon, even though he was always terribly busy. Mousesack smiled at that and gave Ciri one more hug.

“We’ll talk later,” said Mousesack, looking hard at Geralt.

“I know we will. Now go, I know you’re going to regret staying up this late in the morning.”

Mousesack shrugged and waved goodbye to Jaskier. The remaining three walked to Jaskier’s car, and Jaskier turned towards them. To his surprise, Ciri hugged him goodbye. She had a surprisingly good hug for someone of her size, and Jaskier happily returned it. She stepped back to be next to Geralt, and Jaskier knew that there was something in the air.

If he was being honest with himself, he was incredibly attracted to Geralt. How could he not be, when Geralt was a decadent dessert on legs with the voice of a creeping winter’s frost. Even him having a child was no detractor, now that Jaskier had met Ciri.

If he was being even more honest with himself, there was the smallest of chances that Geralt actually saw something in him, although it was anyone’s guess as to what. There was something between them, that much Jaskier knew.

But Jaskier was not brave enough to say anything in that direction. Clearly, if Geralt saw something in Jaskier, it was not courage.

Jaskier looked Geralt in the eyes, smiling. “Thank you for tonight, I had a wonderful time.”

Geralt smiled softly back. “I am glad. I had hoped you would.” He nodded, once, and put a hand of Ciri’s back to guide her back to the car. Jaskier watched them walk away, Ciri leaning sleepily into Geralt.

+

It was the week after taking Jaskier to Blaviken with himself, Ciri, and Mousesack. Mousesack had, uncharacteristically, actually called him multiple times. The first time all Geralt had heard was just his name, followed by a heavy sigh. Geralt had ended the call immediately, reluctant to listen to Mousesack have an existential crisis on the phone. The second time Mousesack called, they actually had a conversation. Mousesack, being the main source of Geralt’s hesitation in any instance, cautioned him against flinging himself into a relationship.

“You like him, though, right?” Geralt had asked.

He had been able to hear Mousesack’s smile through the phone. “I did, the bastard. He’s strangely charming.” Mousesack had paused, thinking. “What does Ciri think?”

“She approves.”

“Well, if Ciri approves, then I can’t help but agree.”

Their conversation circled through Geralt’s mind as he watched the house party go on around him. It was a relatively small house, with guests only allowed in the front rooms and the kitchen for parties. It was comfortable, though, clustered with couches and full of lightness and laughter. “Someone’s in a thinking mood,” said Yennefer as she sidled up to Geralt, startling him out of his reverie. “Thinking about how you’re going to bend that bard over your kitchen table the second you get a chance?”

“Yen,” growled Geralt, turning towards her. Despite knowing her for years, she always managed to surprise him.

“I can’t help how I can read minds,” she said, laughing. She jostled Geralt, the fringe on her jacket swaying with her. “Come on, lighten up. We’re at a party, for fucks sake.”

Geralt looked at her with the barest hint of a smile. She beamed back, reaching for his hand.

“Geralt, I know you’re gearing up to do something, and knowing you it may be something deeply, deeply stupid. So dance with me before you do anything you regret, will you?”

She slowly pulled him to the side of the stage, dancing around him. Triss quickly joined, the pair spinning themselves around his unhelpful hands. Despite himself, he cracked a smile.

The party passed as usual, with Geralt sandwiched between Yennefer and Triss the entire time. As the last set finished, Yennefer stood up and stretched. “Triss, is it okay if I come home with you?”

“You’re welcome anytime, Yen,” said Triss. “I’ve got an early morning tomorrow, so let’s get going now, if that’s good with you.”

Yennefer nodded, kissing Geralt on the cheek as a goodbye. Triss followed suit, waving as they left. Geralt shook his head at the pair of them, always harping on how he should do something about his relentless crush on Jaskier but completely oblivious about how they felt about each other.

A few minutes later, as Geralt was helping put the couches back where they usually went, he noticed Jaskier leaving. He quickly made his goodbyes and shrugged his jacket on, following Jaskier out the front door.

“Jaskier,” he called, walking quickly to catch up.

Jaskier turned, an eyebrow raised.

“You played well tonight, I meant to tell you,” said Geralt. Jaskier stepped back, surprised, his head tilted ever so slightly. “Thanks, Geralt. I don’t think you’ve said that before, that’s very. Uh, nice. That last song was improvised, actually. I couldn’t tell how well it went over.”

“I thought it sounded nice, but that’s coming from me. I was actually wondering,” Geralt said, pausing and looking at Jaskier, his eyes tracing the other man’s face. Jaskier was half bathed in lamplight, his eyes shining in the darkness. They were just outside the house, and it was quiet, outside in the night. They stood on a small brick path leading from the front door to the road, and the wind danced through Jaskier’s hair. 

“Yennefer left already, would you like to come home with me?”

Jaskier blinked, his face changing from easygoing to hard in an instant. “Did Yennefer dump you and you’re reaching out to me, the next person you knew who would sleep with you? Was that what Blaviken was really about, to butter me up and not to invite me to some intimate moment with your daughter and best friend? You paid for me, to get into my good graces?”

“No, Jaskier, I…” stuttered Geralt, his face falling. “I didn’t mean –”

“Jesus, here I was, thinking you might actually care about me as a person. I’ve heard stories about you, you know, sleeping with whoever looks your way. I don’t know why I thought this would be any different.” Jaskier’s jaw clenched and he sucked in a breath, closing his eyes before walking away.

Geralt watched him. “Fuck,” he said, looking around before jogging after Jaskier. Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s arm, turning him around before Jaskier could shake him off. Jaskier opened his mouth and Geralt started talking, desperate to get his point across. 

“I invited you out with one of my best friends and my daughter because I wanted you to meet the only family that I have. I paid for you because I put you in the position of refusing my company or paying for an unexpected expense. I was grateful for your company, not trying to put myself in your good graces. I apologize if it looked that way, I sincerely did not mean it.”

Jaskier uncrossed and crossed his arms, finally looking at Geralt. “So what is this? You’re not inviting me to sleep with you? I read too much into things and took it too far, like I always do?”

Geralt took another step forward. “Jaskier,” he said, his voice rasping. “I am either casual friends with someone or in a serious relationship. I don’t do in between, and I do not,” he faltered, steeling himself. “I do not want to force you to do something that you don’t want to do. I didn’t even know if you would want to sleep with me, would want to be with me, so I wasn’t asking you to come to my bed. I wanted you to come over, so you could become more comfortable being around me.”

Geralt paused, watching Jaskier. Jaskier was staring at Geralt, his jaw still working. Geralt continued. “Fuck, Jaskier, we barely know each other. How am I supposed to ask you for a deep commitment when I don’t even have your phone number? How could I ask you for a relationship when I have a daughter? I know I’m not a catch, Jaskier.” Geralt’s mouth pressed tight as he shook his head.

Jaskier was breathing noticeably, his eyes wide and face soft. “What if I said yes?”

Geralt inhaled sharply, his worldview narrowing to just Jaskier, ignoring the street they stood on and the air getting colder, ignoring the wind picking up.

Jaskier continued. “What if I said I was ready for all of that, for being with someone with a daughter and terrible self esteem and who can’t do anything the easy way?”

Geralt’s expression softened, fondness overtaking his features and a smile slowly spreading across his face. “Then I would ask you to come home with me and I would ask you to stay.”

Jaskier stepped forward once more, fully in Geralt’s space. “And if I said yes?”

“Then I would be yours as long as you kept saying yes,” breathed Geralt, looking down at Jaskier. He leaned down, gently kissing Jaskier, his hand cradling his jaw and thumb sweeping gently over his cheekbones. 

+

Jaskier woke up with his head in the empty canyon between two pillows. He lifted his head, his memories of the night before slowly filling in the holes in his memory until he could remember where he was. The walls of the room were a deep blue, and sunlight strained against the edges of the curtains at the windows on one side of the room. He sat up, rubbing his eyes with one hand. He looked around the room, noticing small details he hadn’t before. A bookshelf under one of the windows, with a small collection of plants atop it. A chest at the end of the bed. A glass of water half full on the nightstand, from which Jaskier took a swig. He wandered into the attached bathroom, smiling when he saw the unopened toothbrush on the counter and the nearly empty toothpaste next to it. He brushed his teeth, still smiling from the night before.

He returned to the bedroom and hunted around for his pants, shrugging them on and giving up on finding his shirt from last night. After a moment’s search, he found a stretched t-shirt, clearly an older one of Geralt’s. He pulled it over his head and yawned, grabbing his phone and heading into the rest of the apartment.

Geralt looked up from his phone when he heard Jaskier’s footsteps. “Good morning,” he rumbled, his voice morning-low. Jaskier’s knees nearly gave way and he saved himself only by leaning on the kitchen island.

“Good morning yourself,” he replied, still recovering. Geralt stood, kissing Jaskier on the temple as he walked past him into the kitchen. 

“Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” asked Jaskier, looking around desperately for a mug. Geralt placed one in front of him and poured coffee from a French press, resting his elbows against the island and facing Jaskier. Jaskier took a deep glug of coffee and sighed, content. “Thank you for the toothbrush, by the way. Morning breath Jaskier is not something you want to encounter.”

Geralt huffed a laugh, taking a sip from his coffee. He let his eyes rove over Jaskier, a smile creeping over his features. Jaskier looked down into his mug, smiling as well. It was almost too much, looking at Geralt. Jaskier looked up again, unable to help himself. Seeing Geralt was like drinking from an oasis when he had not known he was in a desert.

Something in his face must have shown what he was thinking, as Geralt broke into a smile, big and loose and happy. Jaskier swore to himself that he would do anything for the rest of his life, just to keep Geralt smiling like that.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @[adamsveins](https://adamsveins.tumblr.com/) !
> 
> also, bonus points if you know the real place that Blaviken is based on! it's a funky place in my hometown and I highly recommend visiting


End file.
